


Things With Wings

by ferrumnegative



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Birds, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 08:23:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3440273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferrumnegative/pseuds/ferrumnegative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prowl likes birds.  Bumblebee likes Prowl.  Birdfeeding is taught, and (sort of) learned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things With Wings

Somewhere in the chaotic mess of quick actions and white hot turbulence that drove Bumblebee’s mind, there was peace. There was tranquility.

Prowl knew this.

It surfaced - just sometimes and in short-lived outbursts before puttering out like an old, cheap car with not enough life and too many miles. But enough for the bots closest to him to know it was there.

It was there _now_. Mostly.

“So.” Another long pause. Bumblebee’s voice was heavy with as much cheated skepticism as the look he was giving Prowl. “I thought you said they’re attracted to these - what did you call ‘em, again?”

Prowl looked at the contents in Bumblebee’s cupped hands like it would answer for him. Somewhere above, wings beat.

“Breadcrumbs. And they are. But it takes some level of patience. Birds - from all my observations - are wary creatures. They don’t…” The tone in his voice slanted to something almost accusatory, “They don’t jump right into things until fully understanding the situation and the potential dangers.”

He didn’t have to wonder if Bumblebee’s mind would latch onto the implication. The smaller bot was rash, not dense.

“Hey, now. I’ve been sitting here with you a good ten cycles, haven’t I? I’d say that’s enough to get rewarded with the company of a couple of your feathered pals.”

Prowl thought about that. From the higher branches, beady eyes watched the two robots like they could see through all their layers of aging metal, right into the cold, blue pulses of their sparks. Maybe they could. A chickadee flew a couple branches closer to them.

"It’s not about reward. It’s about… Allowing something you care about to come to you on it’s own accord. And accepting the possibility that it might not."

Bumblebee laughed then, soft and short. Prowl was talking about more than birds. Either that, or birds were a more existential topic than Bumblebee could’ve imagined.

“You know, you’re really good at turning carefree fun time into way too over-analytical, philosophical spiels. I’ve told you that, right? Because I should’ve told you that by now.”

"I do try.”

Prowl grinned. Bumblebee concluded that the visit to Prowl and his tree was already worth it for that. Sometimes he’d try to carefully maneuver and guide their conversations with whatever fraction of slyness he possessed just to see the smile that was so rare, it was almost an anomaly. An abnormally attractive glitch. The kind - the only kind, he figured - he wanted to kiss. So far, it’d always been worth the effort to see it. So far, he hadn’t gotten in a kiss.

The chickadee moved closer, followed by a couple house sparrows and a northern cardinal. The birds were a branch away from Prowl and Bumblebee’s.

“But the fact stands, Bumblebee,” Prowl continued. “More often than not, you’ll find that patience, rather than action, will give you precisely what you were hoping for.”

The chickadee landed on Prowl’s hand. A well-placed queue. It’s beak sifted through breadcrumbs, searching for the optimal piece. The other birds followed.

After the drawn-out string of anticipation, Bumblebee’s metallic insides churned low and smooth in alert to the blur of feathers and beaks around them. The smallest house sparrow landed on the breadcrumbs in Bumblebee’s hands. It chirred, accusatory. Or appreciatively. Bumblebee couldn’t tell. He didn’t speak bird. He imagined Prowl did though, on whatever hazy, indistinct level bots and birds could communicate.

Bumblebee was sure - mostly sure - that nothing as delicate as the small talons on his hand existed back on Cybertron, way back when. Nothing that would’ve survived for long. Maybe that was what Prowl’s fascination stemmed from. But there was something there, something indefinable, that Prowl had with his birds that Bumblebee didn’t understand, that Bumblebee figured he’d probably never understand. He was fine with that.

The birds made quick work of the food. Beforehand, Bumblebee assumed that in proportion to the offerings, the birds would leave a lot. But they managed to finish all crumbs in sight. And somewhere in him, Bumblebee could admit that Prowl was right enough. There was something subtly relaxing in this.

The crumbs were gone, the birds had left, and Bumblebee and Prowl were alone again.

“Well?” Prowl asked like the entire thing had been a test. With him, it might’ve been.

“Well,” Bumblebee began an answer. “Not really my thing. You know? But I can sort of see the appeal. And the little guys are fast.”

Prowl hummed. “Small but fast, yes. Surprisingly daring for their size too. ’Fierce’, you might even say.”

“Yeah, that. I can respect that. I mean, in that way, they’re a lot like me, eh?” Bumblebee tilted his chin up just slightly with a smile that could’ve said ‘well, of course I’m that great’.

“Of course. Come to think of it, the one with the beady eyes, soft feathers, and stubby tail had an especially striking resemblance.”

Bumblebee protested with words and a push so gentle it could barely be considered one. They fussed, watched each other, and settled down to a quiet stop, almost all simultaneous and timed. This time, Bumblebee was smiling.

The two sat a little longer, without any real reason to. Maybe a reason wasn’t needed.

At some point, Prowl’s arm slid around the back of Bumblebee, slow and with vague, hopeful intent. It spoke of something other than camaraderie, even if camaraderie was still there. It was the first of it’s kind.

Bumblebee’s _everything_ came to a halt for a moment, like his spark had suddenly forgotten it ever existed. Or it had existed, then vanished, to be replaced with one that was completely new, beating and glowing with everything that defined affection and excitement, and Bumblebee could’ve never seen it coming. He might not be the same bot anymore. After something-million years of warfare in the name of artificial peace, an arm around him was all it took to change him in any way that might matter.

In retrospect, maybe Prowl’s wait-and-see philosophy had something going for it after all.


End file.
